


Say That The World Won't Ever Change

by UlternateFreak



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 04:21:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20057923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlternateFreak/pseuds/UlternateFreak
Summary: There's a moment in which Peter thinks it all starts. A small semblance of nothing actually important where he looks to the boy across from him and realizes two things.1). He wants to give the world to Harley Keener, but 2). He is too damn afraid to give his own.A companion piece to All We've Ever Known.





	Say That The World Won't Ever Change

**Author's Note:**

> So, as promoted by the summary - this is a companion piece to All We've Ever Known, mainly told through Peter's perspective on things. I highly recommend reading that first to better understand a few moments briefly alluded to here.  
I hope you enjoy.

There's a moment in which Peter thinks it all starts. A small semblance of nothing actually important where he looks to the boy across from him and wonders - 'is Harley Keener happy?' It's simple, but complicated - in matters that should only pertain to the other - seeing as happiness is relatively personal, but now seems to cling to Peter as if a necessity. He wants to know. No. Yearns to know. And hopes that he is. Hopes to God, that Harley is happy and not at all miserable like Peter is beginning to suspect.

"So, you don't like Tennessee?"

"I do," Harley nods - an ice-cream cone of pistachio nut before him. "But. Well," he turns the cone over, licking the small expanse of cream beginning to run down his hand, "Rose Hill is a shit hole. Every-bodies either hungry or tired. The wage is nothing. And the work is hard. It's a graveyard. Not like here. This city is beautiful. I could get used to a place like this."

Peter feels himself practically beam at the sentiment - a sense of satisfaction overcoming him as Harley lazily smiles in contentedness. Still, as he is known to do, he breaks that serenity - and asks- "what of your family though?"

"Oh," Harley seems to shrug, now looking anywhere but at Peter directly, "I don't know. They're not like me... Never looking further than the front porch. Plus-"

This is the moment Peter finds every time he goes looking. Where something seems to alight within him - and he thinks, there - that's the moment that starts it all.

"I don't think they'd miss me much anyway." It breaks Peter's heart, to hear such words from where family - devotion and care of the highest and purest kind - ought to be. And suddenly, though he had already had his heart set on it anyhow - he wants to show the world to Harley. Or, at least, the world of New York City and all of its sights. And really, it's only to make the other happy. If only for a moment longer. A moment of moments built over the single week he has here.

A week that both he and Harley had been adamant to have.

"So when do I get to meet him?"

Thinking back, it's a fools question - asked to a man who endlessly seems to be everywhere other than where he actually is. Which is not to say that Mr. Stark ignores, or overlooks, Peter, or anyone for that matter - just that he seems to always be looking forward, beyond the world and further out than anyone actually cares to see. Is willing to see.

"Who?" The man asks, looking to Peter as if he's just now realized he's still there. Which, in all fairness - should be expected seeing as Pepper is still speaking into his earpiece.

"Harley-" Peter says. Stark stops dead in his tracks, and takes a beat, excusing Mrs. Potts on the line, before removing his shades in a single fluid swoop. Its dramatic and stupid, and Peter is living for it - because damn does he make it seem so cool.

"Why would you want to?" Stark asks. "He isn't much. Practically a midget-"

Peter grins. "You're always going on about him-"

"Its hyperbole. Take everything I say at face value, kid."

"Everything?"

"Yes - well, no. Not the important things. And before you ask - yes, there is a distinction, and yes, you'll know when they are present."

Peter doesn't. So he continuously pesters, and asks - and comes to learn that Harley is doing the exact same, albeit, from a different front.

"Why are both of you so fixated on this?"

"Harley wants to meet me too?"

"Yes," Stark says, "and I am up to here-" He lifts his hand to dramatically dangle a nonexistent rope-

"So let us meet each other-" Peter says, ignoring the theatrics, and swinging over the counter between them. "Please, Mr. Stark? Please?"

"Or - and hear me out on this - stop asking, and I won't ground you. Literally."

He doesn't.

Harley doesn't as well.

So in time - despite the bitter resentment, and the exasperated excuses that prove both absurd and exquisitely entertaining - the older man gives in.

"He's coming? For real?"

"For Spring break. I'll get him from the station myself, and he'll-"

"For how long?"

"A week, Mr. Eager pants-"

"Awesome. This is gonna be great. I can show him around, and- wait." Peter pauses, a sudden shadow stretching over his face that Stark can physically see manifesting from his neck up.

"Whoa, kid-"

"What if he hates me?" Peter asks. "Oh, God. What am I going to say to him? I didn't mentally prepare for this-"

"You've got a month before he comes. Sides, he's just Harley."

He is just Harley, Peter learns. A familiar story, resting in slight variants, that doesn't, unfortunately, feature much of a great third act. Unlike Peter's own.

"Tony Stark is probably the best thing that's ever happened to me." Harley then says. To which Peter, mouth stuffed with his own snicker-doodle cone, peers at him. Heart and all. Harley snorts. "You don't have to look like I kicked you."

Its official. And by that, it's made into a long winded spew that Ned unfortunately has to bare witness to over a video call. Peter Parker wants to give the world to Harley Keener.

In doing so, the two become quite entangled over the course of a few days - spending an afternoon in Central Park - touring Manhattan another - and Harley, much to Peter's delight – isn't entirely up to seeing the sight-sights, the tour aspects that are built strictly to entertain and sell the non natives to NYC, but rather wishes to see Peter's world. So they go about Midtown High one morning - take a bus into Queens the following afternoon, and sit in small pop diners that are sprinkled about the neighborhood some evenings.

"Look," Peter says, pointing out from where they are perched upon a bench - one that rests overlooking the bay that leads into main Manhattan. "What do you see?"

"Uh – water – the city?"

"But what really?" Peter asks, now balanced upon his soles.

Harley, following the others gaze, peers out and across the bay - straining his eyes to glance upon the cars about the bridge, the small lights that begin to dance about the buildings. "People-?"

"So many lives," Peter nods. "And each with a story, Harley. Each one with their own reasons, their own heartaches. It's nice, isn't it?" Harley looks to him - uncertainty framing his eyes before looking back out to the expanse of lives. "To know," Peter begins again, "that someone out there - at least one, if not a hundred, may feel the things you do. And maybe, in time, you'll come to help some of them - maybe they'll even help each other."

"Do you really believe that, Pete?"

"I do."

And he does. For it's what the Parker's believed. It's what Uncle Ben had told him once on this very same bench. Now, nearly, a lifetime ago.

"We're Parkers," he had said, "so we park, and we watch - and we help our fellow man when they need it, Peter."

That's the first time Peter remembers hearing it - the first of many 'Petes' that sounds odd at first - a strange kind of informal slur, as if Peter is just painstakingly too long to say. And yet, despite this, he never comes to correct Harley, and the terrible butchering - and accepts the name as nothing more than a thing. A Harley thing.

By the weeks end, Peter finds himself at a train station - with Mr. Stark by his side, and a close to sad Harley hugging him goodbye.

"Come back some time, okay?" Peter says. Harley nods, a 'definitely' wanting to slip forth from his lips but says nothing more, and simply nods again before turning off- "Wait-!" Peter scurries back to him, his hand already fishing into his jeans. "Uh - here." He hastily pulls at Harley's arm, finding it smooth and clear - and writes a scrawled, crude looking, order of digits. "Call me. I mean, keep in touch - uh, yeah."

"Definitely," Harley finally says. And he gives him a second, quick, hug, before bounding off as he had been. A newfound skip to his step.

Peter grins - and Stark, still besides him - but now inching much closer to his back, snorts. "Smooth, Parker. Real smooth."

"What-?"

"You have cellphones that can save numbers, no need for the theatrics-" he chuckles, motioning to the pen still in Peter's hand, "it was kinda romantic though, so I'll give ya props on that, kid."

It's months before Peter sees Harley again - though they've texted much in between to write novels of the most alienable things.

Harley. What's a bbq w/out buns n weiners?

Peter. Batman is so much cooler

Harley. Use to play ball when I was a kid

Peter. Hate chalk boards the sounds they make when u put ur fingers to them is annoying

Harley. Im gonna bring a trex back to life one dah it's the dream

Peter. Liked ballet when I was a kid but kids used to make fun of me so I stopped

Harley. I'll make a machne that can generically modify dna

Peter. And I'll dance circles round ur chickens

Harley. As long as ur in a tutu ;)

Oh, and Harley Keener - Peter learns from their chats, is unceremoniously gay and kinda, sorta, into his second persona - aka Spider-man.

Harley. Hes hot.

It's odd at first - mainly because of the whole Spider-man thing, but Peter feels more flattered if anything - and puts no true thought into the matter. Because it's to be expected, really - he isn't so closed off to think that any guy wouldn't ever come to look at his other half as some girls already tended to do. It simply came with the territory. In truth though - he couldn't very well think to even put thought into Harley and his 'crush', seeing as he was on the cusp of rationalizing feelings of his own for Mj. Who, for so long, had always been there but never marked upon. And really it happens quite suddenly – where Peter catches her, quite a number of times actually, watching him, only for her to sneer a crude remark and turn away.

“I think she might like me,” he had said to Ned one afternoon.

“Or she's secretly a trained assassin and is looking for a window of opportunity.” He had snorted in turn. “Or maybe – just maybe, you're lonely and need attention. It happens to the best of us. Fickle love. Ah, to be so young and new – I remember when I first fell in love-”

It's awkward to say the least - because Peter tries, and fails miserably, over the course of a week to try and get Mj alone - in order to properly identify her attentions, and possibly ask her out, as any true gentleman would do. Only, he finds himself either slipping up entirely - being pulled aside by some b-list villain, or gets caught with his pants around his ankles - which is a long story in and of itself, saved for a rainy day. Yet despite this – and despite Ned's opinion over all else - once Summer rolls around – they're together - albeit, still fresh and quite unsure - but together nonetheless with entwined hands swung between them.

When Harley returns, Mid-Summer - his visit already planned out the month before – Mj is besides Peter at the train station. And things, even in his own opinion, fall flat rather quickly.

"I don't think he likes me," Mj tells Peter, once Harley has declined the offer to accompany them for lunch. And has, instead, opted to go with Happy and head to the Tower.

"What? No. I'm sure he's tired."

"You sure about that?" She seems to look at him in an odd sort of way - a look she tended to wear when she was thinking him a total Claude.

"What?" He asks.

She smiles - soft, but still tinted with an inkling of something he could not quite put a finger to - "nothing," she says. "Never mind. I'm sure you're right."

He isn't.

For Peter isn't stupid - nor is he completely blind to the way that Harley seems to distract himself, dodging Peter for a majority of his stay. At least, that very first week and a half of what is barely a four week visit. Which, in New York time – amounted to very little.

"Hey," Peter says, walking into Avengers Tower via an open skylight. Harley, having not seen the entrance, is confounded, and looks about the room trying to find his means of arrival.

"How did you-?"

"Do you not like Mj?"

Okay. So he hadn't exactly planned to lead with that - in fact, this conversation had about fifty different openings when he had rehearsed it in the shower - this one in particular being neither of those.

"Mj? Of course I do-"

"Then why are you avoiding me?" He feels the tips of his ears perk at that, stinging red as Harley seems to look off in turn. "I mean us? Why are you avoiding us?”

"I'm not-"

Peter isn't particularly good at being threatening - he knows this, and understands that without a mask, he's every bit of a boy with a much too young and innocent looking face. But he glares - or attempts to reach some sort of a look to distinguish unhappiness and anger.

"Yes, you are. When we talked about this Summer - you said we'd do this and that - and I haven't seen you since you've arrived."

"I've been busy-"

"Sitting here?" Peter asks, "watching-?" He peers at the screen – in which two men are in the middle of what looks to be a forest. One, the tallest and lankiest of the two begins to- "What is this? Why is he making those noises?"

"He's trying to attract Bigfoot," Harley says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, "Its a Youtube series-"

Peter dismisses the TV, and turns back to Harley.

"I just..." Here, Peter deflates, and any such anger he was trying to hold subsides into a low thrum. He's frowning, and looking at Harley in the same-

"You're doing it again." He says. "Looking like I kicked you or something."

"Harley-"

"You're right," he then offers, nodding and moving to stand in a second. It's thoughtful – and calculated, Peter can tell – but he let's the other try regardless. "It's...I don't hate her, Pete. I don't. I'm happy for you, but - well, I guess I just kinda thought it'd be the two of us, you know? Like you said, 'we' made plans for the Summer." He pauses. "You never even told me that you guys started dating."

Peter nods, and realizes - perhaps, he can understand the other – even if only a little. And in spite of the small nagging sensation beginning to form in the back of his head. One that sounds and feels an awful lot like Mj tapping a pencil against his forehead.

_“Earth to Peter-” _

"Okay," Peter nods, "I get that. And you're right. We did. And I didn't. But - would you mind if we did things together? The three of us? Or four? Ned kinda wants to meet you too."

"Yeah," Harley says. "Yeah. Of course we can."

True to his word, Harley does try - and spends a handful of afternoons with both Ned and Mj – and some, with just Peter himself. He fits, in truth, like hes always been there – slotting in fine and without fuss, and Peter finds him laughing at stupid corny jokes, and even siding with Mj against himself and his endless tirades. It's terribly unfair, and sometimes scary to see how alike Harley and Mj actually are - but Peter marvels at it, and comes to enjoy the two together as a pair. A trio between, once Ned leaves to the Philippines to visit his family. They have movie nights - and park days, and scout about the city with more sugary sweets passed between them. Usually to be found at either the Tower or the Parker's apartment in Queens by evening.

It's in this frame of time that Harley finds out about Spider-man and Peter being one and the same - a feat which Mj had achieved just several weeks beforehand likewise. A true testament to how badly Peter was at actually keeping it all a secret.

"Hey, Tony - have you seen my-?" Harley stops dead in his tracks – his hand still gripped to the knob – and simply stares at Peter who is about a single foot away, physically – as in toes away, from slipping out of his Spider-man suit. "You're not Tony," he continues absently. Peter - in nothing but a pair of boxers - awkwardly smiles, and gives a last tug to his gear before pulling the suit up to cover his modesty. A movement that Harley follows without thought, before he's suddenly forcing his eyes to the ceiling with a deep and rich scarlet blush. "I - uh, okay. So you're Spider-man then-?"

"N-no," Peter says, still not moving, "I - this, this is a costume - yeah, it's - I thought you'd like it-"

"You'd thought I'd like you in it?"

"Yeah - I mean, no. No. No. That's not what I meant-"

"Of course not. 'Cause it's not just a costume. You're Spider-man, Pete. It's fine. Its cool. I'm just gonna close this door and let you do your thing."

"And I figured it out," Mj says - once the story has been retold and she's had a grand laugh at the expense of both boys present, "he didn't tell me. Nor was it by accident. Just so we're clear.”

"Shame," Harley says. "It was quite the show."

"Oh, I bet," she says with a laugh - which levels out into something amiss. And it's subtle - really, with her eyes crossing between Peter and Harley. Which, in truth, is easy to do with how Peter has neatly planted himself between them.

Always.

_A trio between._

Peter hates it. Hates how in one week – the week before Harley is set to leave – so relatively close to this fine middle ground that has finally been found between them – that things are set askew again. And this time it isn't due to Harley – it's Mj.

“Did I do something?” Peter asks once the girl has set the rules down before him.

He's close to tears – can feel the heat pulling behind his irises but tries to remain as neutral as he can.

“No,” she says coolly – 'cause even now she's calm and calculated – searching the world for some assistance to find the words she so desperately needs to say to him. “It isn't like that. I just think you need to figure something out, Peter-”

“About me?”

“Yes-”

“Then it is me - how could it not be if I'm the one who has to fix it?”

“It's not to fix,” she says, “not really. And it isn't your fault.”

“Mj,” Peter says, drawing her in closer than before, “I don't know what you're trying to tell me. So how can I fix this?”

“Not fix. Just - you need to look into yourself, Peter-”

“I haven't a clue what I'm looking for though. Can't you just tell me?”

“It isn't for me to say-”

“So it's about you?”

“No. Not me. Not you. Well, not really-”

“Then who? Who?”

She looks off, again her eyes reading some distant book that Peter can't ever hope to see. It's within her – tucked away where all thoughts linger, be them clear or locked away from even herself. “I think,” she begins after a moment, “that maybe you should consider why you constantly want Harley around all the time.”

Peter's world feels unbalanced– as if it's been placed upside down since the other night. Mj left him - thinking it best to remain friends. Because of Harley – or something acutely attached to the other boy that is both vague and without merit. And yet, he is the exact person Peter flees to once his heart is shattered and broken. He cries – buries his face in the others chest – not caring in the slightest of how he may look. For Harley isn't laughing at him – nor reprimanding him, he's simply there – consoling as best as he can.

“Was that all?” Harley asks, his hand still lingering in Peter's hair – because it's soothing, and Peter desperately needs it to be. So he curls into it, nodding – and burrowing further into what is now a mess of a jacket. He feels a tug at his heart for lying. For he doesn't mention Harley's name in the recounting of what Mj had said. Can't bare to tell Harley that he may be a reason for his unhappiness.

“Everything will be okay, Pete.”

And Peter seeks that name – and realizes, in some short stray thought that it's almost comical how he had set out to give happiness to Harley, when all he's done for the last hour is cry and have the other try and cheer him up instead.

Summer ends – and Harley leaves him as before – only this time, he leaves with a kiss marked against his cheek rather than a simple and nimble hug. One that stings, and swells, burning like a scorched mark against his face. And Peter dwells upon it for days on end – not knowing and not wanting to identify the strings strumming up from deep within his throat. Because it's unsettling – yet strangely earned, as if a gradual step accumulated from the previous weeks events. A week of nothing but Harley and he, closely knit and pressed together. With a will to be merry.

He opts to set it aside – and goes about the days much like before – turning to his alter ego as a means to keep busy – and doing his best to stay ahead, or at the very least, to keep in step, with his classes.

“Earth to Peter-”

He turns to face Mj directly – whose readily outstretched in her chair with a pencil tucked neatly behind her ear. “Daydreaming again?”

“Adequately dreaming,” he says with a small smile. It's been trying – between them – which it to say that they've been actively seeking some sort of rekindle to their friendship within the past months. And while at times just an illusion – for the most part, it's alright. In spite on the faint tappings against Peter's own heart when he catches her laughter.

“So-?”

“No,” he says as he crosses his arms to properly leverage his head. “I haven't-”

“And why not?”

He shrugs. “Been busy-”

“So he keeps saying-”

Peter doesn't say anything after that, but simply lays his head down upon his arms. It's stupid – he knows. He's been avoiding the other, and yet it annoys Peter to no end, which is irrational and unfair – that Mj, his ex-girlfriend – is 'pen-pals' with Harley now. He should be messaging him – not her, and yet – well, he had been. And Peter hadn't messaged back. So, of course, it's to be expected – that the other would come to stop. So...what exactly was the problem here?

“I know I tell you this every-time-”

“Yet you say it anyway-”

“Talk to him, Peter.” She says. And surprisingly, it isn't persistent – or tinged in annoyance – or even masked in that tone of knowing that irks him each time, because he knows that she knows what he's trying to hide from. “Just talk to him.”

He tries to – that night – finding himself once again on a vacant fireplace on a rather slow night of patrol. And it's always the same, he knows – with him asking Karen to bring up Harley's number – only to dissuade himself from actually calling time and time again.

“Peter,” Tony says one day in which Peter finds himself down in the labs with the elder. It may be a week after Mj's last effort, or maybe even the day before. He isn't entirely sure. Time – oddly enough, has been passing in patches since last Summer – only fragmented together in vague bubbles of small memories and the people placed within them. “I think something might be wrong with these logs. Can you come here?”

Peter nods, and passes to step in front of the screens now monitored about them – mainly beams of light that pass to create a stationed image. By now, it's nothing out of the ordinary – being functional holograms – simple and easy by Stark standards. “What am I looking at?” He asks.

“Well, Karen has logged all these calls – only, none of them have actually been set to outgoing. Odd, right? Care to elaborate?”

Peter ducks his head, quickly recognizing the number that is displayed before them in what looks to be thousands of entries. “Probably a bug,” he says against the smirk that is directed to the back of his head.

“Right,” Stark then nods, “I'm sure we'll have to fix that then.”

It's nearly Christmas when Peter stops to think of Harley again – which is a lie – and asks Karen for the familiar, now tired, command. It adds to the log – he knows – but really, he finds some sort of comfort in reading the numbers now engraved into his mind.

“Would you like me to dial, Peter?” Karen asks. And if she had been an actual person – she might have showed signs of annoyance.

“Yes,” Peter nods - before quickly adding, “only, not Harley. Call Mr. Stark.”

He's pathetic. And he's a coward.

And much to his surprise – Stark answers after a single ring – immediately filling Peter's eyes with the sight of his own face.

“What's up, kid?” Peter smiles – and it feels forced – 'cause honestly he isn't sure why he's calling. Isn't sure why he's bothered.

Later on – looking back – he'd chuck it up to his spider-sense.

“Nothing much. Just kinda slow right now," he answers.

“You mean no one's getting stabbed? In Queens? It's a Christmas miracle.”

Peter laughs – and honestly, it hurts – and feels so real that it shatters that cold melancholy feeling that has been floating about him. And perhaps Stark had noticed it, but had opted to not voice a word about it until now. “ Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter nods. “H-how's Pepper? What are you two up to?”

“Peter,” the man than laughs himself - small but gleeful, “are you calling as a way to say you've missed me?”

He has. Not just them – but also, of course, them. 'Cause he's been avoiding Stark much like Harley – since two, nearly three, weeks before with the 'logs' incident, if only to keep up the pretense of being busy. For if Harley had heard anything from Stark – than what then? What would he think of him?

Why would he even care?

...why does Peter care?

“I guess I am,” Peter says.

“And I've missed you, kid. You have to come 'round soon. Seeing as things are slow and all now.” He nods. “And as for Pepper – well, she's rightly tipsy-”

Of course, Peter laughs again – that certainly explains the good mood the other seems to be in.

“Oh, and Harley-”

Harley?

“You should have seen it, Peter,” Tony says – looking off somewhere behind him - “actually you can. I'll have the file saved. But – he shot nogg straight out his nose and it was the best damn thing since Falafel-”

Peter laughs again – for the third time – but even to him, it sounds more forced than before. It isn't the same, isn't as painful – at least, not the same type of pleasantry pain as before. “Harley,” he then says, completely glossing over the fact that he hasn't any idea as to what a 'Pha-lefell' was,“I hadn't realized he was in town.”

The man stops on the other end – the corners of his smile slipping. “Wait – he didn't tell you?”

Peter nods, and all at once he feels like an idiot - with that same type of tapping against his mind. Only it's worse – far heavier than a pencil.“No. Probably just slipped his mind. Listen – uh, I actually got to go, Mr. Stark. I think someones getting mugged-”

“Peter-”

He ends the call and pulls off his mask before the other can even think of calling back, and looks out to the city. Sometime during the call, he had returned to the bench overlooking the bay into main Manhattan – and it's fitting. It's natural.

It's another moment.

And it's made entirely of earlier moments, slotted together to create what Peter could only and rightfully identify as a web. One that he finds himself dangled and ensnared between. He's helpless - much to the point where all he can do is think, and see each moment for what they truly are.

An epitome, sort of speak - the great aha where life finally tosses the most obvious, yet still never properly prepared for, turn.

He wants to give the world to Harley Keener - ...but is too damn afraid to give his own.

"Why do I want him around?" He asks to no one – before catching a single star looking overhead - one which is unbothered and untouched by the few littered about the sky. But it doesn't answer - only glimmers for a moment, and goes about its way. And yet- _"Oh, woe is me-"_ he hears. And suspiciously, it sounds rough - like a crude Mr. Stark who is looking to humiliate him. Only, it isn't. He knows it isn't. Not really. _"Harley doesn't want to play with me-" _

"Shut up-"

_"You know how - you know why-"_

He drags his mask back over his face - a feigned remembrance and yearning to once again ask Karen the same tiring question.

Instead, he turns to Mj.

Mj. finally hav ur head out ur ass?

Peter. Will u help me or not?

Mj. To seduce a boi? Def

Peter. To talk to him

Peter. I messed up

Mj. Obvi

Mj. Ok

Mj. How far r u willin to go?

Peter. ???

Mj. Got any money?

Peter. No

Mj. Yah, didnt think so

It takes two days and a half to come up with the perfect plan – which, in itself, calls upon the Season's tidings – a gift – a small configured A.I. placed within a silver watch that Tony easily puts together, with Peter's input of course.

"Do you wish to do the honors?"

"Yeah," Peter nods. "Calvin? Are you there?"

"Yes, sir." The watch responds easily. And Peter brightens, momentarily lost in the thing before Tony's outright chuckling at him.

"Calvin," he says in a falsetto, "isn't he a dream?"

"Shut up-"

"Did you just tell me to shut up?"

"No," Peter says abruptly. "Of course not-"

"I knew it - I knew he'd rub off on ya. This is exactly why I didn't want you two to meet-"

"This is not about Harley-"

"Isn't it?" Stark asks. "Isn't it all about Harley Keener now, Parker? Aren't you just swooning over the moon-?"

"Shut- no-! No! I didn't say it - so you can't get mad if I didn't say it-!"

It's the night of – and Peter finds himself standing before the entrance of the penthouse floor - box in hand, and a comfy sweater tossed over his suit per May's insistence. He's a wreck - and he's slightly cold - but mostly jittery from the sparks fluttering about his stomach. He's either about to pass out or throw up – or possibly both, and wouldn't that be something?

He knocks.

And Harley is looking at him in seconds time - really looking, and suddenly a fire is set within the jitters - or perhaps the jitters have actually caught within themselves. "Merry Christmas, Harley Keener," he says all at once. And the other smiles - small and slow - but a smile nonetheless.

It's stupid - and unfortunate - but Peter can't seem to find the words that hes been rehearsing since he last called Tony and texted Mj. And it had been perfect - in his book - the way in which he was going to explain himself, letting Harley know how he exactly felt and how much he hates himself for ignoring him for so long. But of course, they don't come - and all Peter can say is anything but the argument. If it was an argument. He really can't say. He hasn't had much experience with them.

"Should I open this?" Harley asks, staring down at the present still within his arms. Peter shrugs, feeling the weight of the eyes still lingering upon them. They had sat in the dining area since he had entered the tower – seeking some sort of space, but Tony and Pepper seemed adamant on knowing how things were to play out between them. At least, that's what Peter suspects from the countless turning abouts they give from their spots upon the couch.

"You don't have to," he says. "If you wanna wait-"

"Oh, no. I'll only wait if that's what you want me to do, Pete."

Pete.

Peter nearly beams at that slight altercation of his name. Its, again - as always nowadays, stupid - but hes missed 'Pete'.

"I don't care," he says. "I mean, you can open it now. I won't mind." He stops – waiting on Harley's decision – with his mind repeating the word 'Pete' a couple more times over. Hes glad Harley had said 'Pete', and not 'Peter', it means hes surely in a better place with him now. If only slightly. For the moment.

"Actually," he begins again, "I want you to open it. Now. But-" he casts a look to Tony and Pepper - a look which forces Harley to turn about likewise. The two, slow but mindful - turn back around - with Pepper almost snorting out a laugh at Stark's direct, "whoops - busted."

"How about we go somewhere a bit more private?"

"Where?"

"Have you ever seen New York City from the rooftop? It's really great - kinda magical-"

"Romantic-" Stark feeds from the couch. "The word you're looking for is romantic-"

"Tony - shush-" Pepper laughs.

Calvin is a success – and Peter gives into the fire now itching so far up into his fingertips that hes honestly worried whether they're going to fall off.

He kissed him. Still, mindfully, upon the cheek, and nowhere close to where he had really wanted to - but a kiss nonetheless. And he had lied to him, again - claiming he had wanted to do that since Harley had first opened the door to the penthouse. Which, he hadn't. Only now had it crossed his mind - but for some odd reason, those words had felt necessary to say.

He ducks his head - still screaming internally at the graving fact that Harley has still yet to say something. Anything. They had meant to be heading inside- Mr. Stark and Pepper wanting them down for dinner no doubt. Yet they simply remained, with nothing between them. But-

"I hadn't meant to," Peter begins.

"No," Harley says, "uh. Thank you. Um...its okay. I was just caught by surprise. And.."

"And?" Peter asks.

"Well, don't take this the wrong way - but your face is cold as hell. Or not hell. You know what I mean. But, are you even pumping blood or are you just some corpse in a sweater?" Peter snorts- and its ugly - and it physically hurts because of the harsh wind nipping at his nose contrasting against the heating pool of his stomach. But Harley is laughing too - so it's mainly magical with sounds of bells in the night air. And Peter is just so damn happy and relieved that he pulls Harley up into his arms. Nearly half carrying him, but also half draping him. "Mr. Stark will come up here if we don't go now."

"Y-yeah," Harley agrees, allowing whatever Peter's motives are to literally carry him off.

"So you and Harley, huh?" Peter looks to Ned - whose standing over his desk with a small tease of a smile. The first bell still waiting to be wrung.

"What?"

"Come on, Peter. You really weren't gonna tell me?"

Peter turns to his immediate left, just as Mj steps into her seat - which she slides harshly out from under her own desk. "Traitor," he says with an accusing finger, "that's what you are-"

"Believe me. I know. But what are you referring to, nerd?"

"You told Ned-"

"Wait-! She knew before me!"

Peter whips back to Ned - nearly giving himself actual whiplash with how fast he cocks his head. " She didn't tell you? Then how do you know?"

"Peter," Ned chuckles, "you've been staring at your phone all day. And you only know three people who actually text you-"

"Don't forget the smile when he does get a text-" Mj adds, beaming a dreamy look to emphasize her point.

"And you're constantly talking about him - just like you did with Liz and-" Ned looks to Mj with an awkward smile, "well, you know."

She nods.

"Plus,” he continues, “I'm pretty sure that jacket isn't even yours."

Peter flushes - readily knowing, and not willing to deny, that the red bomber jacket with the small Saturn logo isn't, in fact, his - but rather, truthfully, Harley's.

"Did he let you borrow that?" Mj asks.

"No," Peter says, "he left it at my apartment...and it was comfy."

"Whipped," Ned snorts, "hes whipped for Harley."

"So far gone," Mj nods, "I almost feel bad for you." She reaches for her phone, and quickly snaps a picture in record time. "I'm sure he'll think you're adorable in his clothes."

"No-no, Mj! Please, I'm beggin' you here."

"What's the big deal?"

"We're not like that. He's not in that place...with me."

"Peter," she says, voice leveling out to an almost soothing tone, "he came out to you. Of course he likes you. Who wouldn't? You're so bang-able."

"An absolute snack," Ned agrees. "If you're into that, I mean."

"I have no clue what he's into... Besides Spider-man-"

"You're Spider-man-!"

“And you're pretty as a picture,” Mj adds, turning her phone around to show him the picture she took of him, “with a booty that won't quit.” She clicks send.

New Years day had been a mess - literally and figuratively with the amount of trash thrown about the penthouse. But Peter had also felt like dying by morning – and had forced himself to the fridge in the hopes of finding some hopefully untainted juice or much needed water. He had spent the night for the countdown - and had ended up crashing on the floor of Harley's guestroom. Not daring to touch the bed after their attempted New Years kiss had ended as it had.

He kicks at an empty bottle by his foot, and opens the fridge – half-surprised, but ecstatic, with the unopened orange juice carton resting on the top shelf.

"Hey - pour me some too," Harley says, appearing as a zombie from out of the corner of his eye. And Peter clambers – a heart attack on the rise – because the other is in nothing but a pair of Spider-man boxer shorts.

No. No. No. No- It isn't fair. Even as a mess, Harley is beautiful - and-

"Hey, Pete-" the other says, "juice. Now!" Peter doesn't move. "Hello?" So Harley moves towards the other instead, and frames him around the fridge, reaching out for the carton. "Are you hungover or something?"

Peter nods - dismissively, and simply watches as the other opens the container and drinks it straight. "I wanted some too-" He says meekly.

Harley nods, and hands the juice over absently. "Then have some-"

When Winter break is over, Peter feels terrible - and snot and tears are trailing down his face, so he must surely look it as well. Harley's leaving, and all he can do is cry and bury his face into the other boys chest. The worst part, he thinks, is Mr. Stark and Pepper - and May - are all present, and sending his back the sheer weight of absolute pity. Harley, bless his heart, really - truly - is taking it - him - as it is.

"I'll be back," he says to him - his lips buried in Peter's hair. "Watch. It'll be Spring in no time." He grips tighter, and feels the loose tear that Harley permits himself to have.

He leaves.

And Peter feels a piece of himself drift off onto the railroad tracks and into the nothing he knows.

"Seriously," Ned snorts - and mainly it's a way to break Peter's attention than to actually laugh, "he could do so much worse."

"He could," Mj nods. The first bell has still yet to ring, and Peter is crumpled in his seat - a certain bomber jacket now laid out before him instead of on him.

"I appreciate the lies," Peter grumbles. "But if he had wanted things to even be like that, than why hasn't he said anything? Or made a move?"

"He kissed your cheek-"

"I kissed his too-"

"He also tried to on New Years-"

"He might have actually been drunk-"

"Do you know that for sure?" Mj asks. "No. You don't. 'Cause you, Peter Parker, are a coward-" "Am not-" "Then why haven't you made a move? See, the thing is - Harley is out of his element every-time he comes here. But you - you're whole world is here. You have the best opportunity to woo him-"

"I don't know," Ned says, "Peter doesn't exactly have great game-"

"Gee. Thanks, man."

Its thanks to Mj - though Peter would never straight out say it - though she knows he knows so - that Peter gets the courage to ask Mr. Stark for some much needed help.

"Dinner?" He says. "I see. Well, I'm sure I can arrange something. Maybe we can even double-"

"This isn't a date-"

"Right," he nods, his smile turned down neatly, "you're only asking me to take you and Harley to a fancy dine in upstate sorta place for a very strict and platonic reason. Which you highly insist on paying me back for entirely. Of course. Silly me."

Peter nods, but has the decency to look sheepishly at the floor. "I was also kinda wondering...if maybe-"

"Spit it out, kid-"

"I need something nice." He says. "To wear. Do you have anything?"

Tony grins - and it's that sort of shit eating grin that ruins Peter every-time. For its fond, but dangerously teasing. "I'm sure I can arrange something for that as well, Cinderella."

They eat tacos - the day Spring officially rolls back around for Peter - despite the plan of dinner being only a handful of hours away - with Harley draped over the Parker apartment couch, and Peter nudged between his legs on the floor. He isn't entirely sure why he's sitting there - but makes no correction to move.

"So these are the sort of movies you like?" Peter asks. He takes in the sight, watching as the vampire on screen begins to fly - vacuum in hand.

"This, Pete. Is a modern classic."

"If you say so."

It is, in truth. For Peter finds himself absolutely in love with the dark humor of the film - nearly morbid, but also senselessly stupid and uplifting, and sees much of Harley reflected within it.

"That was fucking hilarious-"

"Language," May says, voice filtering in from the other room. She was feigning work, or reading - but really she was on her phone, in bed, giving the two boys their much needed space.

"Yeah," Harley laughs, "we're werewolves, not swear-wolves, Pete."

All things considered, dinner isn't a complete disaster - despite the hives outbreak upon Harley's entire person, it's relatively fine and calm. And Peter is simply glad that he is able to properly breathe again. That is, until he's facing a bare-chested Harley, whose in dire need of ointment. "Should I," he stalls, "uh - want me to do your front too?" Harley is at first quiet - and Peter can see how a debate is filtering within him. So he brings his arms down."Right. I'm sure you can do it yourself-"

"No," the other says, "uh, yeah - can you?" He turns about, and Peter is suddenly over him, a certain eagerness sprouting from deep within himself that Harley seems to register - for he smiles up at him. It's a bit awkward but also kind. Always kind.

“You like to please people – don't you, Pete?”

“I suppose,” he answers. “I like being helpful.”

Harley is a marvel - he's like a blank canvas, with smooth white skin that trickles easily in the sun with a handful of peppered marks littered about. Peter has seen it - but never more so than where his shoulders meet. Red brown - lightly freckled, looking like a patch of what Peter could only describe as-

"Are you laughing at my sunburns?" Harley asks quietly.

Peter nods, his fingers skimming over a flat but slightly toned stomach. "You look like toasted bread-"

Harley is fast - and Peter's sense are nowhere close to being threatened - before he's folded over into the other's arms. Back to chest.

"W-what are you doing-?" He laughs.

"Making a Pete sandwich obviously."

_"Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong..."_

Throughout the film - Peter's choice, of course - Peter is constantly reminded of what is to come tomorrow morning. Monday morning. A lingering question that sprouts up every-time the film seems to ask its own - 'what happens on Monday?'

He hates, and loves, that the Breakfast Club ends quite loosely - with the fate of its characters nonexistent. They simply have this day, and learn and grow from each other, and yet... He looks to Harley, whose mainly focusing on said film with a pack of Reese's Pieces in his lap. These past days have been fleeting - with Peter nowhere close to laying down truths, and yet heart so full and ready to burst at the seams that the truth is threatening and conspiring to fall out every-time they're together.

"Harley," he says, voice tightening despite the strength he's trying to mull.

“Yeah?”

"Do you think they come back together on Monday morning?"

"Who?"

And it's in this light - with the TV being the only source of such, and music swelling into its pivotal score - that Peter seems to break. "The Breakfast Club."

It's a slow crack, but it is cracking - and try as he might, Peter can't seem to shake it, and simply endures the agonizing torture of it slowly but surely splintering off bit by bit. He waits, in silence, watches as minutes turn to hours - another movie played but forgotten, and hears the signs of Harley dozing off. Finally - with the room now basked in darkness, his heart tears open. And he's crying - not in rivets, but in silent sobs. He doesn't want Harley to leave tomorrow. Doesn't want to watch as the train pulls out of the station, leaving him – again – making him feel like Bogart in Casablanca. He isn't strong enough to be Bogart. Doesn't want to be.

When he awakes Harley - his words stirring him from his slumber - he asks a question that isn't his own, not really - but one that stems as close to what he truly wants to ask as possible. And Harley, despite having been forced to raise, responds to him kindly and in soothing hushed tones, playing with the loose pieces of Peter's heart now in a heap between them.

"It isn't all make believe, right? That they're friends. And that they'll still be friends on Monday?”

"No, Pete,” Harley says, “You can't just pretend something like that away.”

"Some of them became more than friends-"

It lulls the same for a moment – before Peter finally says what he's been meaning to say. "You're leaving again. Tomorrow.”

"Yeah, I am."

A beat.

"Are we friends, Harley?"

Harley – for all his tiredness, seems to spark at that – and actually comes to look at Peter as soberly as he can. "Of course, Pete-"

"You sure?"

"Yeah - of course."

And Peter wants to say it – to argue a point, and can feel the words swelling, but refusing to be voiced because it might actually kill him to do so. So he cranes forward, legs tucked beneath him and presses his lips neatly to Harley's own. Its chaste – and innocent – much like their first and second kiss. But it ruins him – far more so than the past two combined.

“W-why did you do that?” Harley asks slowly. And Peter knows it isn't from uncertainty - not in a doubting almost sickening sort of way. But, truthfully, from wonder.

“'Cause I knew you wouldn't.” He says before he presses his forehead against his.

They fall asleep again after that – not saying much else, but instead – rolling into Harley's bed together and entwining themselves between the sheets. And it's as if he's being held by the world - like his arms are the entire world in and of themselves.

Their last goodbye, not known as the last then – is relatively easy, with nothing really said, as always, between them, but a certain understanding that doesn't call the need for tears this time around. They simply hug – and part – with words of seeing each other again - hushed and only to be heard between them. And Peter watches as the train pulls out of the station.

And all else falls to hell.

One moment, the worlds natural – and moving – with texts between as before - and collective calls - but then the mad Titan appears - and Peter is sent into space with Mr. Stark.

And then the worst truly does happen, and Peter blinks out of existence - along with half of the world, clinging to his mentor as his senses dial to a complete one hundred. And he sees them - the string of digits engraved into his mind.

_"Would you like me to dial, Peter?"_

_Yes. Yes._

And it's laxed - like sleeping, truly - before he's blinking up to a twilight sky - that is far more purple than red, like an open inferno of violent violets.

“Spider-boy-”

He stirs, looking at Strange who looks as put off – but not as lost - as he feels.

“Spider-man,” he corrects, and his voice is hoarse. The taste of soot trailing down his tongue and into his throat.

The elder looks off with a short scoff. “Whichever," his voice is rough as well – "just hurry and collect yourself. We'll be needed shortly-”

“For what?”

When it's all said and done, the war won – and the light that is Tony Stark has faded from the world – Peter finds himself at a cabin by a lake.

The funeral - ceremoniously and quaint - passes in a blur - with a lifetime of standing, ending in a collection of photographs littered about a mantle.

Pieces of a life in a year created between Pepper, Harley, and Tony – Peter realizes - and really, a year of time is frightening. A lot changes. He moves from living room to a stairwell – May otherwise preoccupied with Pepper - and up through a hallway, and into what he knows is Harley's bedroom, with a Spider-man and Iron-man poster lining the walls, and shelves of small trinkets. He sees Calvin, knowing it now an empty watch – and spots a familiar cowboy hat gifted by Tony to Harley last - last-last, he corrects - Christmas.

Christ. A year. A year in life just gone.

And with it, Tony-

“Peter-?”

He turns about, tears now fresh - and trailing down his cheeks, to see Harley still dressed neatly in slacks and tie, draped against the open door frame.

“A bedroom is a very private thing,” he teases. And it's hardly anything – still cold and small, and without it's usual warmth. But he's offering him a tissue, probably one of thousands in the home at the moment.

“So you live here then? Since-?”

“The Snap,” he answers with a nod. “Yeah – uh...I came to Pepper in New York when I found out about you and - Tony. And when he came back, and you... – I stayed with them. Moved here.”

“Your mom?”

“She came back too. And my sister.”

Peter nods, and takes hold of Calvin - right, not Calvin - but still Calvin in his eyes. And that ache stirs again - the pencil - now stronger than ever with it's proficient beating against his skull. “A-are you to leave again then? Once Summer ends?”

“No, Pete,” Harley says. “I can't. My life is here now.”

“With Pepper."

He nods. “She knows. And so does my mom. She gets it...things change-”

“Yeah-" Peter nods, "I'm starting to get that."

“But also-,” he continues, coming to stand by Peter's side. And here, Peter can see the change in age over the other – he's a bit taller than last he saw him, and his hair is darker – and eyes, well...they're less than he remembers. Colder. Darker even. "You're home.”

“Harley-?”

“Gods, Pete," Harley says, tugging him to drop his face into Peter's hair, "– I've missed you so much.”

Peter, since the moment of his mentor's death, cries. And grieves. And hold's onto Harley, falling into the made-up bed once his legs start buckling. And Harley presses a kiss to his temple - to his forehead - falling short to his cheeks closely after. Then Peter – just as their actual first – kisses him directly. Only this time it's different, it's desperate, and much more needy, and Peter presses himself forward, needing less space and more contact. He needs to feel the thrumming of Harley's heart against his own. To feel beyond the ache that has been leveled within him since Titan. Perhaps then - the soot could actually go away from his throat.

_“I love you.” _

_“I know.” _

It's Spring – and Peter wants to kick, and possibly toss, himself over the Empire State Building.

“Get it?” He continues. And really he just can't help himself, even as he's internally screaming at the top of his lungs to shut the hell up. “It's from Star War-”

“I caught that." Harley says, pulling him in, and kissing him deeply, his hands pulling Peter flush - and-

"Harley-?" He curses himself as he pulls away, always the blockade to what he wants in order to voice what he needs. "Harley-"

"I know," the other says, trying to follow him.

"No - Harley-"

"I know, Pete. I know."

"But I need to say it."

Harley - despite what his eyes are easily saying to Peter - stops, and wills himself to finally pull away and look at him squarely. Direct.

"I love you too," He says. And Harley's eyes grow darker somehow, different then when Summer had been round. For it's not in hollow ache from death, but in concentrated and thriving warmth. "And..."

"And?" Harley asks in a single breath, mapping every inch of Peter's face.

"Will you be my boyfriend, Harley Keener?"

He flushes - again, accenting the toast comparison that Peter won't ever dare to let go of. "Aren't I already?" He asks. And he's trying to be coy, playing it cool despite the grin that's straining to be released.

"Officially?" Peter continues.

"Officially," Harley nods, slipping into that smile for a moment. "Okay, Pete. Yeah. I'll officially be your boyfriend-"

"And will you make a promise to me?"

"Anything-"

Peter pauses, and Harley simply stares - no longer a tempting hunger coursing him to pull Peter in close, but a soothing desire to touch him. To simply feel him breathing besides him.

"Say that it'll always be like this," Peter begins, "say that the world will never change on us-" It's as close as he can get to saying what he's always wanted to say each time the Seasons would change between them. Each time he found himself hearing a train pull into the station.

"Peter," Harley says with a small but equally firm smile. "I can't promise you that the world won't ever change. But I'll be besides you when and if it does-"

"You will-?"

"I will. For you are my world, Peter Parker. And the flowers can bloom - then wilt - the days can grow longer only to fall short again - bringing cold nights and dark skies - and I'll be here."


End file.
